Glimpses
by QuoteMe Contest
Summary: Glimpse noun: a very brief, passing look, sight, or view. "These are the snapshots of marriage, stopped in places." - Anne Sexton. AH, BxE


**Quote Me Contest Submission:  
>Title: <strong>Glimpses **  
>Fandom: <strong>Twilight**  
>Quote prompt: <strong>#25—"These are the snapshots of marriage, stopped in places." ~ Anne Sexton  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>Bella and Edward**  
>Rating: <strong>M**  
>Word count: <strong>9,470

**Summary: **Glimpse _(noun): __a very brief, passing look, sight, or view._ "These are the snapshots of marriage, stopped in places." ~ Anne Sexton. AH, BxE

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but admiration for the characters and world created by Stephenie Meyer and appreciation that she lets us play in her sandbox.

**Any additional remarks/warnings/notes: **Each 'glimpse' is noted by a new title. Think of it as a new chapter, if you will.

*High*

The young woman's hands shake and tremble by her sides.

She is nervous. So very nervous.

She can't believe this is happening. That he is there, walking beside her. She could reach over and brush her hand across his. Feel the skin of his arm against the skin of hers.

Why he is here is unknown to her, confusing. She doesn't think herself special. Believes herself to be fairly ordinary. It is not true but she can be stubborn about her perceived faults.

She tried to warn him when he asked. Told him how plain she was.

He said she was wrong. That she didn't see herself clearly. Called her pretty, asking "_Pretty girl won't you please go out with me?"_

They take turns talking. It's only slightly awkward for a little while. Then they are rushing forward with their words. Stumbling over each other's thoughts to add their own, share a similar feeling or passionate but kind disagreement.

So much about him is so much of what she likes. What she thinks she could like.

He tells her about his love of music. He plays piano. His long, elegant fingers dance across ivory keys in her imagination. It's a beautiful.

Like him.

He has such beauty about him. Not only his features but his personality.

It's all there, lying in wait for someone to see.

She is glad he lets it be her.

His apologizes for the unusual location. He says it was always his favorite thing to do as a child when it was in town. The rides and lights and sights and smells and sounds bring back those happy memories. They make him smile.

She likes his smile. It's sometimes crooked and off balanced yet still perfect in its imperfection. It beams full blast when he finds a booth he remembers with delight from his childhood.

She can see that little boy tucked beneath the clothes of this man. She likes him.

She likes the man, too.

She tells him the carnival is great. It's different and she likes different.

Different is good.

She is different, she can't help but think.

He agrees. He tells her he likes different, too.

Her blush waves it's telling banner over her delicate face and she shyly ducks her head, long waves of chestnut hair shielding her face.

He won't let her hide. Tells her its part of what makes her such a pretty girl.

She blushes more at his softly spoken but kind words. His thoughtful questions.

Her words tumble from full lips, spilling out secrets she normally doesn't share. But they feel safe with him. He won't judge them. Judge her.

She wants to write and paint the world with the color of her words. She wants to share stories of happiness, of sadness, of triumphant, of failure. She wants to show others the flickering pictures of thought that move inside her brilliant mind.

He thinks she can do it. Tells her she can paint the world.

He smiles. It's not fake but genuine. It tells her so much. She likes this smile almost as much as the crooked one.

He tells her his dreams. He wants to be like his father, he wants to be a doctor. Has always wanted to follow in his hero's footsteps. He wants to give back. To heal.

She tells him he will be great. She can tell the words are true, too.

Even if this thing between them never grows more than it is now, she knows he will be something… someone she will write about one day. He has already healed her in a thousand little ways.

Her friend Alice is there, silently watching from the side of a nearby booth. She catches Alice's eye and gives her the biggest grin she can. Alice brought her boyfriend Jasper here in case she wanted to escape.

She doesn't think she'll ever want to.

They walk more. They talk more. Eat funnel cake. Laugh more.

His laugh is full and bathes her in its melody. She feels it fall all around them and wishes she could bottle it for later. She thinks of how she would hide it away in her pocket and take it out when it rained. Or even when it was sunny.

They take a turn on the Ferris wheel.

Up, up, up, up they slowly ascend in a red, rocking box in the sky.

It's just her and him now. At the top of the world.

Night is falling and the stars are just beginning to prick the sky. Up here the lights from the carnival below are less bright. Shadows play across his face, dusting the high cheekbones and emphasizing the small bump on his nose. His green eyes sparkle all on their own now when he looks into her, seeing more than she ever planned to show.

But its okay, she's wants him to see.

Their box is small and slightly cramped, with their legs sometimes brushing one another. His dark denim jeans scratch her bare legs. Her skirt lightly flutters along her knees in the soft breeze they can finally feel when they are up so high.

She likes the feel of his body heat against her. She slides ever so slightly closer.

Closer to his heat. His warmth.

Him.

His right arm is squished against her left now. He lifts it and places it on the back of the seat. She misses the contact and frowns a little. Maybe he doesn't like her heat, she worries. She shivers a little at the uncomfortable turn of thoughts.

Then he speaks, asks if she is cold. Before she can respond his arm is wrapped around her. Pulling her into his side more tightly. Closer to him.

She smiles. He smiles.

They look out on the scenery below them, in front of them, above them. The sounds fade away as they wait, perched above everyone and everything as the wheel pauses.

It's just him and her.

His fingers are circling small loops into her shoulder. She looks to his face to see if it is on purpose. She thinks he doesn't know he is doing it. Her smile is hard to keep hidden.

She likes the way it feels. The soft brush of his fingertips against her bare shoulder, warming her cool skin.

She likes being there with him. Wrapped in his arm, leaning into his side. Breathing in his intoxicating smell, laughing and joking and teasing him. Talking about their futures, their hopes, their dreams.

Secretly hoping she can be a part of his someday. Secretly hoping he'll be a part of hers.

She wants to kiss his soft, full lips. They are a pale pink blush against his smooth, white skin. His wild hair is being tousled in the wind, pulled in every direction the air takes.

It's a little messy and a little crazy. And she likes it.

She likes him.

When they come back down, she doesn't want the night to end. She can sense it is drawing to a close, coming to a stop. Fewer people are scattered about. Trash is littered all over the ground. Booths are being packed and food is tossed out.

They agree they should leave, reluctance coating both their tones. She wraps an arm around the giant teddy bear he won for her at a dart booth. Her face nuzzles the soft fur for a moment, taking in the night, this date, this man.

She leaves her other arm dangling free between them as they slowly make their way back to his car.

He grabs her hand and cradles it within his own. The rush of sensation she feels at his touch sends tingles up her arm. His hand is strong and firm yet soft and warm as their fingers combine. His thumb lightly brushes the back of hers in a soothing motion.

She peeks out of the corner of her eye to look at his face. He is smiling the most beautiful smile of the night and she catches the green of his eyes looking at her too.

Her smile can't be contained. She wants him to see it and know it's for him.

Because of him.

She wants to do this all over again. With him.

*Forever*

He can't believe this day has finally come. The day he will get to call her his bride, his wife.

Forever.

She will be his forever now.

She said she has been his since the beginning, since the first turn of the Ferris wheel over a year ago. And truly, she has.

But this day, this moment… seeing her walking towards him, covered in soft light, lace and fabric of white solidifies for him how true her words are.

How true her devotion to him is.

He can't imagine it is as strong as his for her. It seems impossible for someone to love anyone the way he loves her.

She consumes him. Burns like a flame in his soul, blue bright and warm. She holds him entirely in the palm of her small hands.

His pretty girl.

Forever.

Words are shared, and tears are shed as they stand facing one another, promising before God and all those present to be faithful, devoted, and loving only to each other for the rest of their days.

It is merely a formality as this is a promise, a vow they have already pledged to each other before.

Always to be together, for better and for worse. Sickness. Health. All the days they walk the Earth.

When the words finally come, slowly tumbling out of the priest's mouth, he can't stop the small tear which falls from his eye as he stares into the deep, cinnamon brown of hers.

So much love is waiting there for him, pulling him in to bathe in the depths of her soul which belongs to him. And him alone.

He leans into her, his cherry blossom lips lightly dusting across the plump, tea rose pink of hers. Their lips are soft and smooth against one another as they share in a dance they have practiced many times before. Lightly nipping and tugging at each other as they seal the scared promise they have just committed to.

He breathes a soft exhale, his hands cradling the precious angel face of the woman he has pledge his life to. He rests his forehead tenderly against her own as he opens his glass green eyes.

The look on her face is breathtaking, serene. Peaceful.

Loved. Cherished.

They stare at each other for moments that could very well stretch into eternity, sharing the air and small secret smiles full of meaning only they can know.

He can't stop looking at her.

Wonderment.

Adoration.

Enchantment.

Tenderness.

Worship.

Love.

All of it belongs to her.

All of him is hers.

He wants to stay here, in this minute and this hour with her smiling at him as if he has given her the world, for the rest of his life.

The people watching them are forgotten, mere images that fade into the background of his sight as he continues to pour his passion for her into her with his eyes. Then his lips again. He begs her to understand how true the words they've shared are to him with his kiss.

Will always be true.

She returns his feelings back to him with fervor shining in her glassy, tear filled eyes.

Her love for him is limitless.

With smiles so big the heavens can see, they turn to greet the world as husband and wife.

Mr. and Mrs.

His and Hers.

Bound together, forever.

*Flame*

The air is thick, swimming with tension.

The man and woman move around each other. Not in easy, smooth practiced motions like so many nights. Instead, on this night their dance is full of strain and nerves, tension.

She can feel him behind her, approaching the counter as she works. The knife slips quickly up and down, up and down, across the vegetables laid out below her skillful hands.

Up down, up down. Chop, chop, chop.

Her fingers hold the handle tightly, she doesn't want to lose her grip.

Slip and lose control of the knife.

Of her emotions.

But she can feel him. _Right _there. Pressing into her space where he is currently not welcome.

Without even touching her, without even being very near, he is still too close.

He moves to the cabinets above her right shoulder pulling glasses down. She turns slightly, attempting to hide her face.

She can't look at him.

Her anger is still simmering, rolling, boiling like water in a pot, just under her skin. Seeing his face will only result in an explosion.

He shifts away from her, never coming closer. He has practice reading her face, the hunch of her shoulders, the pull of her skin across white knuckles.

He knows her well.

Yet he speaks anyway. Despite her clear nonverbal warnings to do nothing of the sort.

"Bella," he begins.

"Edward." Her voice is clipped. Short. Clear in its meaning.

_Do not proceed_.

He doesn't listen still.

"Are you really still on about this? Why can't you just let it go?" he questions, his tone bordering on condescending.

Her hackles rise. Her ire is peaked once again and she turns quickly from her position to face him.

Her face, which is often tinged pink with embarrassment or pleasure, is now flushed red. This heat is not of the pleasured kind, however. It is fueled by indignation.

"Seriously, Edward? How can you even say that to me? You know how much this meant to me!" her voice raises as she concludes her statement.

"I do know. And I apologized several times," Edward's own voice, usually smooth and caressing when speaking to her is now clipped. "But there was an emergency and I couldn't leave."

Bella scoffs. "Emergency? There is always an emergency isn't there? How fortunate for you," her tone dripping with animosity.

"Why yes, Bella. There are emergencies. That's what happens when you're a doctor."

"And there are no other doctors that can take over? It has to be you?" Bella demands.

The food is forgotten. Plates and cutlery left in piles where they were dropped.

More heat is being produced between the new husband and wife than the kitchen can handle. The room is quickly filling with it, suffocating both parties. Neither is thinking clearly, both hurt by the other.

Edward begins to pace in front of the small kitchen table as he attempts to rein in his temper.

"Bella. You know how important being a doctor to me is. I can't help it if your work programs conflict with that. It's not as if writing is-" his stops himself before he can get too far.

He can't say what he wants to. Even if it is just in the heat of the moment, it will hurt her. And he knows it.

He may be angry at her reaction but he wouldn't hurt her on purpose like that.

"Oh! You've _got_ to be kidding me!" She is screaming now. "Go ahead, Edward. Say it. Say what you're thinking. My writing isn't what? Not as important as YOUR WORK?"

His thinly held control snaps.

"Goddamn it!" Edward booms into the space between them, throwing a glass across the room. It breaks against the far wall, pieces cascade down in splintered rain. She has pushed him too far.

"I save lives, Bella. Every. Fucking. Day. And I can't help it if that interferes with your work! It's not like I planned a five car pileup on the freeway just so I wouldn't have to attend the fucking gala!"

His is towering over her now. Her back pressed firmly into the cabinets and counter top behind her.

She isn't frightened he will hurt her.

She knows he never would. He may be outraged but he would never harm her.

His face, while still beyond beautiful even in all his fury, is inches from her own. Green eyes blazing into the deep cinnamon of hers. She glares back.

She hates that he is right.

She hate nights like the one before when he should have been with her. He should have been dancing with her across a twinkling white lit floor.

They should have laughed and teased and played footsies under the table. Sipped on champagne and offered coy looks under lashes for half formed smiles and smirks.

Instead she was alone. Yet again.

She hates his job.

She loves it.

Loves how important it is to him. Loves how he is so good at what he does. Loves the light it brings to his eyes. Loves that he loves it so passionately.

She just wishes it wouldn't keep him from her.

She knows he would have been there if he could have. Intrinsically, she knows this.

But it doesn't dull the pain.

"I just wanted you there," Bella remarks slowly, quietly. She feels guilty. She can't believe she is so upset over this. She knew when she married him this would happen.

She just didn't know how much she would miss him when it did.

Edward releases a deep breath down his nose. He searches Bella's face, her eyes for answers. He tugs on the copper locks in disarray atop his head in an attempt to calm down.

He knows this is about more than just missing an event.

It's about missing each other. He feels it too.

"I wanted to be there, baby. I really did." Edward speaks softly, tenderly. He reaches slowly forward, wanting to place his hand against her cheek but not overstep.

Bella turns into his hand as it caresses her face. She just needs to feel him, his touch.

"I know. I'm sorry. I know I'm overreacting…" she lets her voice trail off for a moment as she clutches at his raised wrist.

"I just miss you."

"Pretty girl, I miss you too. Every minute I'm not with you, I miss you." Edward cups her face with both hands, his thumbs grazing the delicate skin along her cheekbones. "It will be over soon, baby. I'll be on a regular schedule soon."

His words are a promise. Just a little longer until they can find their normal.

She nods in understanding. She has to wait just a little longer.

"Then I'll be able to be with you. Anywhere you want. Anytime you want, okay?" he sweetly pleads with her.

"Okay. I'm sorry, Edward." Bella kisses the flesh of his palm. It's a favorite kissing spot for her.

It shows her acceptance of him.

He knows this. He loves it too.

"I'm sorry too, pretty girl."

His lips brush across her forehead. It is one of his favorite kissing spots.

It shows his devotion to her.

She knows this. She loves it too.

They pull each other into a tight embrace. Arms wrapping firmly around one another, chests pushed securely together, hands roaming the other's body as their lips seek comfort from each other.

It is an apology. It is an acceptance.

I'm sorry. I forgive you.

It reignites the spark between them.

This time the heat builds, rising, climbing, stretching, reaching to the ceiling above. But the flame burning is different.

It is of desire.

They slip to the floor, dinner forgotten as clothes are pulled away from flesh. Their mutual desire bursts into flames as they devour each other, skin to skin.

*Bare*

Water rushes through the tap, filling the basin up, up, up. Warm and cold swirling together to mix into a perfect temperature. Not hot enough to burn or cold enough to freeze. Just enough to warm and soothe.

Just right.

Just like her.

Small hands dip in the surface, testing it. Checking for perfection. All she would need to do is look up to see it reflected back from the mirror above.

See her perfection.

She knows he is watching. Knows he is perched in the doorway, leaning on the frame. Supported by the structure as he loses his balance in watching her. He never wants to find that balance. Always wants to be knocked off his feet by her.

It hasn't not happened. Not since the first moment his green eyes first found her.

He has been falling since then and knows he'll continue to fall for the rest of his days. Just for her.

He can't take his eyes off of her.

And he doesn't want to.

Her hands rise from the water, cool and wet to press against the warm flush of her face. Her delicate skin is bathed in the refreshing liquid. Fingertips run the span of her cheeks, chin, nose, forehead. Lips.

Petal pink lips that beg him to kiss them. Whenever, however. As long as it's his lips kissing them.

The water is combined with soft, floral, sweet smelling soap. It foams and bubbles along her pale skin. White suds dust across the contours of her heart shaped face, washing away the day.

Heat from warm sheets. Damp air from the rain which fell that morning. Coiling, spinning rings of smoke from a hot stove. Laughter tumbling out of the baby's mouth and soaking into flesh. Sunlight that crept across the window and danced across smiling cheeks.

Her armor is dripping, fizzling, fading away. The mask of makeup.

His eyes watched as she applied it early that morning. Careful lines drawn in black around dark brown eyes. The fringe of eyelashes extended to even longer lengths with mascara. Cheeks left bare, her natural blush filling them enough. Swirls of color dust across the thin skin of her eyelids.

Tea rose pink lipstick across full, plump lips.

All of this is to hide. All of this is now gone.

Washed away.

It slips, drips, floats down, down, down.

All that remains is her.

Beautiful.

Breathtaking.

Bewitching.

He watches as her true essence, her true self is revealed.

Soft skin, bare of anything but her.

Perfection.

See doesn't see it, though. He tells her the armor is not necessary. She is more exquisite without it but she won't hear it.

Calls him funny. Always teasing, playing with her.

Laughs. The sweet sound tumbling down from those enchanting, plush lips.

His smile matches hers. It's hers anyway.

Has only ever been.

She never believes him but the truth remains.

To him, she is never lovelier than when she is like this.

Freshly clean. No trace of anything but Bella.

Her eyes catch his in the mirror. A small, secret smile crosses her lips.

She knows.

Always has, always will know. There is no one but her for him.

His body regains itself. Finds its direction and moves towards its North.

To her.

*Night Song*

Her hand lightly traces the muscled contours of his chest. Slipping, sliding fingers gliding over the coarse, light reddish brown hair nestled there. Chest rising and falling with each breath he takes pushing her hand along with the air.

Patterns dance out of the tips of her fingers and form on the pale white skin. Warm.

Warmth burns and soothes her own flesh as she presses her body closer to his. Always closer.

It's never close enough.

Her cheek is nestled to his form, ear pressed tightly to the most important part of him. Listening. Memorizing.

The echo of his heartbeat gives her life. Fills her up in ways that can't be explained. Words can't capture the meaning each pulse of his heart means to her.

It gives him life. It gives her love.

His arm is wrapped around her, embracing even now after the day has faded into night and the world is resting. He holds her, knowing she needs it. Knowing only his arms, his touch can calm the storm that sometimes rages within her.

Makes her wonder. Makes her doubt. Makes her forget.

But he knows. He helps her remember. He washes it all away with just his skin on hers.

So he holds her in the night. And in the light. In the heat of summer and the chill of winter, he holds her still.

Soft, warm, tickling breath ruffles the hair on her head as he exhales. His nose turns into her, pushes against her neck and burrows. Like he can't get enough. Like she is his air and he can't breathe unless it's her he is inhaling.

His arm wraps around her tighter, pulling her closer, deeper into him. It's not enough, it's never enough.

He tells her this. Often.

In the days when they are apart, and at night when their bodies move together.

When the sun beats its heat into skin and when the clouds pour sadness out onto the earth. When the wind pushes against them, pulls at coats and when the flowers first bloom in the meadow. He tells her then.

He tells her always.

Lying there, moonlight bathing the floor, the bed and their bodies, she knows it's true. The stars can see it, the moon can feel it and the ocean outside reaches for it.

His voice breaks the stillness of the air. A gentle whisper floats between his softly parted, cherry blossom lips to caress her soul.

It's his night song. The one he sings each night.

With her snuggled tightly against him, he sings his song. Just for her. Only for her. Always.

It's her name.

Knowing his heart beats beneath her ear gives her peace. She is comforted by the heat of their skin as it touches. His arms pulling her closer, even as he slumbers, fills her with contentment. His breath exhaled is the only oxygen she needs to sustain her own life.

Her eyes close. She can rest.

She can sing her night song now. To him. For him. Always him.

Their song is the same.

It is their heart, their life.

Their love.

It is everything they will ever need. Ever want.

She is his Bella.

He is her Edward.

*Secrets*

Pitter, pattering of socked feet dances through her ears. The tinkling laughter of her daughter drifts across the air. Edward's deep and melodious tones follow hers, wrapping Bella up in life.

In love.

In happiness.

Bella's own feet, bare and free from any constraints pull in the direction of the joyful sounds. Into the heart of their home. Warm and rich and bursting with life because they are in it.

They make it home.

They make it real to Bella.

As she nears, she can hear the faint whispers of secrets being shared. Soft voices, lowered so no one else can hear. Bella imagines her daughter's little words are the desires of her heart, the things she longs for.

Cupcakes for breakfast. New dolls to dress up. Purple paint for her bedroom walls. A puppy to bath. A sister to dance across a make believe stage with.

She pleads with him, begs him to grant her wishes. _Just this once and then nothing ever again_.

She only has to ask.

He would give her the world, if only she asked.

It's what he does. Gives the world away.

Bella peeks inside the room, not wanting to disturb. Her little, chubby baby hand is pressed against his rough, stubble coated cheek. Noses pressed together, green glass eyes staring into one another. His arms hold her tiny body carefully, tenderly, gently. Close. Encircled within the strength of his sheltering frame.

Her hold on him is permanent. Everlasting. Stronger than any bond man can create. Forever.

All of him is held by the tiny palm which taps his face.

Love pours from his eyes, bathing the tiny girl in its warm embrace. She is dressed not only in a bright sunshine yellow dress but in his adoration. His absolute devotion. His protection.

His whole heart is captured and wrapped up in a string she carries around her little fingers. There is nothing for it, nothing to be jealous about. Because she has Bella's just the same.

Just as Edward's heart is hers, so too is Bella's.

Bella smiles at the personification of her heart, so lost in one another. The bubble of time they share is precious, limited. Their daughter will only be this little, this small treasure for so long. Edward's hours are long, his work is hard but he spends every free minute encased in his little girl when he can.

She continues to breathe her fairytale wishes and baby girl dreams into his ear. He nods his head in agreement to the words she's said.

He will give anything.

Be anything.

Do anything.

All she has to do is ask.

He will give her the world.

It's what he does.

Bella knows because Edward has already given it to her.

*Skin*

Light creeps softly across her face, the full moon's light slipping in through the window. Bella is nestled closely to her husband's warm chest, tucked safely into his arms.

Edward holds her as he does every night, protectively. Devotedly.

Even in his sleep, his fingers play a rhythm across the soft expanse of her skin. Warming and caressing.

Bella's eyes flutter, opening for a moment as she stirs in the middle of the night. The house they share is quiet, a clock ticking down the hall. Creaks of the house settling and the light whistle of wind against the window.

She turns her body closer to her husband, draping her arm across his chest and tucking her leg between his own. Edward hums in contentment, moving his hand more firmly on her back. His fingertips dance along the bottom of her hair across her back.

He turns his face down while cracking his eyes open, lips seeking lips in a stolen midnight kiss. Bella presses her mouth willingly to his, always in need of the connection.

The slow, tender kiss is met with another. And another. Another still. The kisses changes to wet, sloppy ones that build in passion and intensity. Lips pushing firmer, pulling against one another. Yearning for more. Desire builds between them, arching high to the ceiling.

Edward presses Bella's small former closer still, wanting, _needing_ her closer. He pulls her body atop his, hands running in circuits from the tops of her shoulders to the round firmness of her bottom.

Bella, fully awake now and just as desirous as her husband, moans softly as he squeezes her round flesh. She reaches her hands up to tangle in his hair, pulling his face more securely to her own.

The movement of her body on his has caused Edward's body to catch fire, burning from the inside out. His reaction to her is immediate, long and stiff, wide and wanting as it presses between them.

Bella loves the feel of him, hard and firm just for her. She rolls her hips, causing Edward to moan, his desire for her building higher.

He slides his hand around her bottom, slipping into the hidden valley below. She is already warm, wet, and aching for him. Her responding sound to his gentle probing is more affirmation of what he can physically feel.

Their mouths continue to move over each other, tongues slipping and sliding along each other as they seek to show their ardor for one another. Small, panting breaths and soft moaning sounds are the only breaks their wanting lips take from each other before crashing back again.

Edward trails his long fingers back and forth over Bella's wet lips below, her own desperate desire for him to slip them in growing with each pass. She pleads with him then, her words asking as her hips push more forcefully into his to show their need.

He slips in one finger before pulling it out to rub against the tight bundle that will send her higher into oblivion in time. He begins to form a rhythm, his hand cupping her from behind as his fingers dance over her, in her. Slipping, sliding, diving.

Bella is breathless with her desire, her hips pushing into Edward in an almost frenzy. She feels herself nearing closer and closer to the desired peak, all at Edward's touch.

He continues to move his fingers rapidly as he shifts his kisses to her neck, his tongue leaving a wet trail to find its way home later. Bella rises up slightly, needing to feel his hot mouth on her aching breasts.

Edward knows her, her wants and needs.

He doesn't hesitate to fulfill them. He wants them, too.

The rolling of her hips combined with the mewling noises of her mouth are driving him insane however and he needs more. He pulls his fingers from her tight body and ignores the small protesting sound his wife makes as he flips her over.

He nestles his body between her legs, no longer able to wait. He caresses Bella's breasts with his hands and becomes distracted from his original purpose, finally able to touch her breasts like he wants. He rubs his thumbs over her tight, dark pink nipples before lowering his head to one and sucking it deeply in his hot mouth, flicking his tongue quickly against the peak. Bella cries out, her back arching off the bed as he loves her with his mouth and hands.

She runs her own hands along the muscled plains of Edward's back, nails scratching and pulling him closer into her body as she enjoys the feel of his skin against her own. Her hands run over his biceps and into his messy hair, tugging and pulling like she knows he likes. She snakes one hand down between their bodies and wraps her fingers around his thick length, beginning her own push and pull on his body.

Edward groans loudly against her breast, shifting his hips to follow her lead. The way her hand feels on his skin, hot and tight and firm, drives him wild. He begins to buck into her, his own pleasure reaching a fevered pitch. His mouth is on every inch of her skin he can attach it to, licking, sucking, nipping, biting. Bella's own pleasured moans echo in the night air.

The passion between them continues to climb, heating the room and covering their bodies in flames of desire. Sweat is beading on Edward's back, on his brow and on his upper lip, which she quickly wipes clean with her tongue.

She will take any of him into her that she can.

The action is overly erotic to Edward and he can wait no more. The teasing is as tortuous for him as it is for her.

With a strong kiss and deep look into Bella's eyes, Edward pulls back from her hands before shifting up and plunging himself into her in one motion, joining their bodies together in perfection.

They both cry out in exaltation, the feeling of being one always overwhelming and consuming.

In the best possible way.

Their lips lavish each other, tongues mimicking the actions their bodies are now committing lower, slowly but building quickly. Edward pushes his body into Bella over and over, driving them both further into the heights of their ecstasy. His body moves over her in forceful thrusts and powerful, needful desire to consume her completely.

Bella thrills at the feeling of him, so fully and thoroughly within her. She never feels as whole or complete as when Edward is seated deeply within her. She circles her legs around his waist, pulling him further into her. She moans and calls out his name as he whispers words both dirty and sweet into her ear.

Edward's hips are pounding into Bella, driving her further into the bed as he races to find a release for both of them. Unable to handle the tight, wet, hot, deep flesh that surrounds him much longer, he places his hand between himself and Bella and circles her clit at a furious pace to push her over the edge of her desire.

His ministrations work and within minutes Bella is screaming and crying out his name.

His praises.

His divinity.

Her body shakes and squeezes tightly around Edward and with one, two, three more deep thrusts into Bella's writhing body he comes undone himself, spilling into her. His mouth falls open and Bella's name leaves his lips as he finds his release.

Bella wraps her arms tightly around Edward's body, pulling him on top of her as he tries to shift his weight away. He doesn't want to crush her as they both try to regain their breath, their strength. But she wants his weight, loves the heaviness of him as he presses her down.

She always feels protected then.

Safe.

Loved and cherished.

Edward concedes, secretly loving her so firmly wrapped around him as well as she slips her legs over his prone ones, pretzeling herself around him. He breaths short, hot breathes onto her neck before sliding his lips to kiss the skin below her ear, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse thump against his mouth.

Bella hugs him closely before tipping her head to his mouth, greedy for his lips on her own. They share light kisses now, slow and methodical as the rapid beat of their hearts slows. They exchange tender words and soft looks as their eyes grow heavy with sleep and exhaustion.

Before sleep can fully claim them, whispered _"I love yous" _are exchanged and Edward rolls off of Bella before pulling her back to sleep on his chest. He kisses the crown of her head once before draping his arms around her and feeling her lips kiss the dip in his collarbone. Their legs tangle as their eyes drift closed, sleep stealing the passion and fire from them and taking it away for another night.

*Swollen*

Nestled into the deep, soft comfort of the couch, she softly drifts in and out of sleep. It's a lazy day, faint yellow white light pours through lace curtain windows and spills into the room. Breaks gentle across her delicate face.

Edward slips into the room, dropping quietly to his knees in front of her.

In supplication.

In devotion.

She is the goddess his heart has devoted itself too. To her dreams, her wishes, her desires. Her needs are placed above his own.

Bella has him, whole and completely.

He raises his hand to touch the silk strands of her chestnut hair, pushing it back behind her ear. He needs to see her face without the thick curtain of silk. No obstructions.

His eyes tenderly trace each line that has begun to etch itself into her skin. Laughter lines frame her closed eyes. The proof of smiles is being softly engrained in the planes of her cheeks.

Only a few worry lines are dipping into the expanse of her face. Those are his fault, and he hates knowing the truth of it. He moves his finger across them, urging them to retreat and stay hidden. To never have existed.

To never have caused her hurt. Discomfort. Worry.

She inhales deeply then turns her face into his palm. A wistful smile dances across her still plump lips before she puckers and kisses the warm skin of his hand.

Only the barest hint of dark brown eyes shimmer at him before they are hidden behind sleepy eyelids once again. He smiles and cups the face of his angel for a moment longer before whispering a kiss against her forehead.

Slowly, he lowers his face down. He is met with the beauty of her body.

It never fails to take his breath away. But never more so than now.

Her shirt is pushed up a fraction of an inch and his hands seek the skin taunting him there. He pulls the material higher, exposing her more to his worshipful sight.

Her stomach is protruding, large and round and full with his child.

His heart swells with more emotion and love for her than it's ever held before.

He didn't know he could love her so much.

But he does.

The skin across her belly is tight, taut and crisscrossed with fine purple lines and little white scars. Her belly button is no longer conclave but flat and dark against the skin.

She hates the way she looks at this stage. She waits for it to be over. She wants to be skinny once more for him.

_Silly, sweet girl_, he thinks. _If she only understood_.

He has never seen a more magnificent sight than her full with his child. Only the first time, when she carried their daughter have his eyes ever beheld such divinity. Such grace.

His eyes only see her.

See the life she carries inside. The life they created together with their love.

She protects their son with her body, with her heart, with her soul.

He is within her, a part of her.

Edward's hands drift gently against her stomach in soft caress as he dreams of their son. The little boy will complete the puzzle of their family. He will complete the pieces of Edward's heart.

He prays he has Bella's eyes, her heart, her wisdom, her smile.

His lips ghost light kisses across her stomach.

They are for the little boy who resides within.

They are for her, too.

For the life she gives him. The life she has already given him.

They are for every bit of love and happiness and joy and sorrow.

They are a promise for each and every tomorrow.

*Hero*

A phone rings in the darkness of the night, breaking the muted silence with its piercing shrill.

The man's eyes flash open at the noise and are pulled towards the dim red light of numbers in the alarm clock. It's late and the phone is ringing.

It is probably the hospital calling him.

He checks the small black pager on the nightstand but nothing is there. The ringing stops. Thinking it is perhaps a mistake, he turns back into the warm embrace of his wife, moving her dark chestnut hair which now has small rivers of silver in it, back from where it has spilled across his pillowcase before he tucks his nose into her neck. His green eyes drupe, drowsy with sleep as he inhales the heavenly scent of her, the aroma relaxing his body as it always does.

The phone crashes once more into the night, only mere seconds after the man has closed his eyes for sleep. The noise disturbs the peaceful woman next to him, she is not pleased at the loud intrusion.

Her small arms push at his firm chest, voice huddled and mumbling to him in her half awake, half sleep. He chuckles softly beside her before quickly kissing her forehead and leaving their bed.

"Hello?" his voice is rough and thick with sleep as he answers the phone.

"Dr. Cullen?" a feminine voice asks.

"Yes, this Dr. Edward Cullen. How can I help you?" He is more alert, hearing the formal use of his name waking him fully.

"Dr. Cullen, this is Jane Thompson from Twilight Meadows. I'm afraid I'm going to need you to come in as soon as you can."

"What's this about?" he questions, a tremor of panic beginning to shake in his voice.

"It's your father, sir," her voice isn't exactly harsh but neither is it overly kind.

"What's wrong with my dad?"

"It seems he has taken a turn for the worse. I'm afraid he won't be with us much longer, sir. I think it would be good for him to have family with him in his final moments," Jane explains as delicately as she can.

The breath is knocked out of Edward. He can't comprehend what he is hearing.

_Something is wrong with his father. He isn't going to make it through the night._

Shaking his head quickly, Edward hastily replies, "I'll be there as soon as I can. I just need to tell my wife."

"Of course, Dr. Cullen. I'll let your father know you're on your way. But you should hurry."

"Please tell him to hold on," Edward pleads softly.

Hours later, Edward Cullen returns home. He is heavy, limbs dragging, filled with lead. The world has been pressed onto his shoulders and Atlas, he is not.

The weight is unbearable.

It bends his spine, curving and threatening to break his back.

His father is gone.

Edward slowly climbs the stairs of his home, silent and still in the early morning. His wife isn't in their room when he reaches the door but he does not register her absence.

His thoughts are of a man no longer here.

Dropping onto the messy sheet twisted bed, Edward lays back and feels the pressure push against his chest as his eyes stare listlessly at the ceiling. He looks for patterns there, following the curves and swirls of paint. His mind is numb and he feels nothing.

Nothing but hollow.

Empty.

Aching.

What could be hours or minutes later, the bed dips beside him. Edward does not turn his head, does not move his hands to grip the small, soft ones holding his. He only stares upward past the ceiling and into the sky.

His mind whirling, twisting, turning, churning, burning with memories.

"Edward." His wife's voice is small, quiet, and gentle as it disturbs the solemn air.

He says nothing. He moves nothing. He feels nothing.

She remains silent for minutes on end. Her fingers dance lightly against him, drumming their way across his flesh. She glides her touch to every part of him, praying she will be able to reach him in this dark place she has found him. Skin to skin, she prays for him.

For both of them.

"Edward, sweetheart. Tell me," her voice gently pleads. Already she knows, she can tell. But she won't believe it till it's been said.

The sound of her voice is distant and muddled. He knows the sound but the crashing waves that have been building in his ears are muffling her sweet voice. He is lost, swimming in a vast sea of grief.

"Bella," his voice quakes and pleads for her. He hasn't spoken in hours.

Not since he said his final words to his father.

Not since he was forced to say goodbye for the last time.

"I'm here, baby. I'm right here," Bella's voice urges him from his depths.

He reaches for her, mentally and physically. He knows she is there, calling for him. Willing him forward to her.

To where he can be grounded once more.

To her. By her. For her.

Slowly the darkness which has him so fully in its embrace recedes. Just a little. Just enough so he can see her and reach her.

He turns into her embrace. His face is pressed closely against her neck, deeply inhaling the comforting fragrance of her skin.

"He's gone…. he's gone." Edward whispers into the air between them. Bella wraps her arms around her husband, pulling him tightly into her chest.

She engulfs him in her, legs and arms and face and hands and chest pressed to every inch of him she can reach.

She would pull him into herself if she could.

"I'm so sorry, Edward. So sorry," she caresses him with her words as she rocks his body within her embrace. "I'm sorry, baby. I love you, I'm so sorry," she repeats over and over into his ear.

Her words are a balm to his aching soul. He can break here. He can let go of the dam of emotions he has been clutching to since speaking those last words. Since his eyes watched as the light and life left his father's blue ones.

Large sobs wrack his body as he clutches and pulls on his wife. His hands become claws that scrap and tear at the clothes on her back. His forceful cries are so deep and powerful her own body shakes.

Bella does not feel any of it. She only feels the pain and despair of her husband.

He weeps for his father. He cries out for the man who gave him life, gave him love. Gave him direction, hope, inspiration, dreams.

He mourns the loss of a parent, a mentor. A friend.

Bella will be his strength now though her own tears fall. She cries for the man she loved as her own father for so many years.

She cries for the memories she has of the great man who passed. She cries for the memories she will never have of him now, with his grandchildren.

With his son.

Bella cries for the man cradled in her arms.

A little boy lost.

A boy who only ever wanted to be just like his dad.

A husband. A father.

Compassionate. Devoted. Loyal.

Strong. Smart.

But now the hero is gone.

*Airwaves*

A light, soothing melody can be heard as the young woman quietly slips into the home of her childhood. The woman can tell the sound is coming from the kitchen a few rooms over.

A smile pulls the corners of her full, pink mouth up. She knows that sound.

Knows what it means.

She steps lightly as she walks toward the sound, enjoying the feeling hanging in the air as she draws closer. She does her best to remain silent, to not disturb this moment.

She only wants to observe. Just look. See.

Bask in what she knows waits right around the corner, shuffling across the faded linoleum floor.

The crackle of static on the old radio is a welcoming sound. She thinks back as she watches, wondering just how many nights did she sit in this room and listen to the crackle and pop? Watch the couple sway back and forth in mesmerizing circles.

A mirrored pattern across the floor which was always as soothing to her young innocent soul as the sounds drifting out and into the airwaves.

The woman slips fully into the room, unnoticed.

Not ignored. Just not seen.

It's nothing she is unused to. Some eyes can only see certain others. Moments like this remind her of that.

She sits in the old wooden chairs scattered around the small breakfast table. Four chairs, one for each of them are still arranged there. She can trace lines in the wooden table top. Lines of old homework assignments, science projects, art demonstrations and more are all littered on its surface.

Just as the lines of the grain stretch across the space, so are the lines of the life that has been lived here, worn into its surface and giving character it would otherwise be without.

The song on the radio changes but the music is still soft and light. The couple hardly seems to register a change.

They are too wrapped up in one another.

As they have always been.

Twirling, swirling, moving, gliding, subtle waves of motion are the only actions able to be detected between the two.

But the young woman's heart knows better. Her green eyes can see deeper than what lays on the surface of this skin.

They speak to one another without words.

It's in the brush of his wrinkled, gnarled hand against her pillowy cheek. The delicate manner in which his hand tucks the white strands of once dark brown hair behind her ear.

It's in the way she places her aged body as close to his as she can. As if it were possible, she would move into his skin and live in him forever.

The closing of her dark eyes and the small, secret smile she wears on her spotted, crease worn skin is just for him.

The pucker of his worn and tired mouth as it gently presses onto the crown of her head.

This is their love. It moves and breathes and lives just as they do.

As they always have.

They move fluidly around together in time with the music they can barely hear. Age has taken that from them. Then again, they never needed more than the music of their beating hearts.

It created a rhythm and song only they could hear and move to.

This is surely the song they dance to now.

Watching her parents slowly turn on the old floor of their kitchen floods the woman's heart and soul with love.

For them. Because of them.

She has watched them in this dance all the years of her life.

When her mother opens her brown eyes she sees the woman, grown up with time but forever her little girl. A new smile crests her lips as she says calls her daughter's name. The father's green eyes, just like his baby girl, follow his beloved wife's lead to find his precious child watching them with her own adoration shining in her eyes.

The couple untangles their bodies enough to shuffle closer to their oldest child, although their hands remain entwined as they pull her into their warm embrace.

Safe in the arms of her parents, the woman hopes to be like them at their age. Lost in love to the counterpoint of her soul.

She makes a silent prayer to one day be someone's Bella. And to have her own Edward.

That her love will be as great as theirs.

*Time*

Gentle murmurs fill the air. Voices are kept low and soft so as not to bother those who are near.

Each person is dressed in washes of dark cloth, finely tailored suits and jackets. Dresses and skirts of a conservative length.

Some wear hats and gloves. Others leave their skin and heads bare. Open to the elements around them.

The man's suit is a chocolate brown. It matches the eyes of one who gave him his. Deep, rich, cinnamon brown.

He runs a hand through the tangled mess atop his head. Waves of copper strands are tugged between irrational fingers.

This is hard. He is not ready for this day. This moment.

His eyes scan the growing crowd. He wonders briefly if all of them will fit. The space isn't small but neither is it very big.

Deep breath in, slow exhale out to calm his rapid beating heart.

Just like his father taught him.

His mind drifts back to the years already laid to rest. To masculine hands with long fingers and pale skin. Always so much bigger than his own.

He sees those hands dance across black and ivory keys. Gracefully pulling sound and rhythm and life out into the air to fall around them. To wrap around him in the essence of his father.

His voice, low and deep coaxing the young boy to try. His large hands softly lifting his much smaller ones to mimic.

Teaching him the songs to play which filled his mother's heart.

Which were crafted from his father's soul. For her, about her.

A small hand along his shoulder pulls the man back from the memories. Pulls him into the room once more. Into the light darkness he finds himself in.

Her eyes are just as his were. Green glass framed by dark lashes. Thick ropes of chestnut hair curl and fall along her shoulders. Just like her mother's.

The man pulls his sister into a tight, strong, un-breaking hug. She had them longer than he did. She had more time.

He wishes for more time.

But his father always told his mother _"Wherever you go, I'll follow. I might be late but I'll get there as soon as I can."_

And he did.

Bella passed in June.

Edward followed in September.

How ironic they died in the months of each other's birth. As if passing such a mile stone without the other present couldn't be borne.

For the man's father, this was probably true. All of his life, from the moment Edward found her, was dedicated to loving his Bella.

With all of his heart. His soul.

Sitting there now with the warmth of his sister pressed to him, looking so much like the first woman he ever loved, the man prays his parents have found each other again.

Tears slip down his cheeks to fall into the abyss of dark fabric below. He doesn't cry out of complete sadness. Or heartache. Or fear.

He cries for the love his parents shared. For the life they built together. For the memories he cherishes of them.

He cries for the loss of such a great love.

A love so strong and passionate that those who knew them felt its powerful touch. They mourn the loss of it, too.

The man's life and world will never be the same now that they've both gone.

But his life was so much greater because he was the product of such love.

The son of Edward and Bella Cullen.

**A/N: **_Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed and will be so kind to leave me some of your thoughts and impressions._


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